


Stags and Faunlets

by lalunaticscribe



Series: The 'Evil' Overlord Q'tie-Pie (All the fault of 007) [3]
Category: Despicable Me (Movies), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Keats poetry, Can it be classed as PWP if no explicit body parts are featured?, Especially of deer, Fairy imagery, Fascinating Celtic imagery, Fine it's porn, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Slash, Innuendo, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Minions would be mentally scarred by this, No save the minions!, Otherworld imagery, Q is a faunlet, Skyfall Lodge is strangely haunted for a burnt house, Stags and faunlets, Supervillain Q relocating to Skyfall, pwp i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:04:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaticscribe/pseuds/lalunaticscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“An oubliette? Very evil overlord-esque,” James murmured, sliding his hands onto a gently rising tummy to find diaphragm and ribs. “But what’s with the deer?”</p><p>“Don’t know,” Q commented, now pulling off a leather belt from James. “Says something about the men of the house. Very... <i>virile</i>.”</p><p>________<br/>Inspired by that deer statue outside of Skyfall Lodge in the movie. And Celtic imagery. Amongst things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stags and Faunlets

Unsurprisingly, when a supervillain relocates, MI6 gets the call. These days, when Q was involved, M usually just sent Double-O Seven to resolve the issue.

Of course, when he got the address, trepidation fairly bubbled.

Mists shrouded the Aston Martin as he drove up to the common, leading him to leave the car by the moor before hiking up. A lone deer-statue greeted him at the gates, the remnants of Skyfall Lodge. Aside from the charred standing walls and other debris of when the squat old dame of a house had burned, and the pockets of mist that lingered rather lovingly, no one was around.

A flash of white; there, by another stag-statue, was a smile and a wink of green, an owlish face attached to a slender head and neck and body, dressed in jeans and a buttoned long-sleeved shirt. James felt his lips part before the elfin figure was swallowed up into the mist coming in from the cold Scottish moor, the stag’s silhouette within clear.

Perhaps, James reflected, those legends of the fair folk in Scotland were hardly unwarranted. Even an MI6 agent had to spend some time in a pub this far north, and going by how some of the men told their fairy stories in the village, perhaps there was something to it. Q certainly seemed to show inspiration.

The secret agent padded over frozen mud and cracked blades of grass, the remains of Skyfall Lodge gathering about before he found the sylph again, one foot placed precariously between half a solid wall and the ground.

The sylph spun, falling, falling...

James leapt, falling down the sunken pit and landing on his back onto something soft. A moment later, the sylph fell into his arms.

Nestled in an oubliette fitted with – James checked – spiked bars, a mattress and basically a full underground dungeon set, James grinned as his grip on a set of hips tightened. “Buying property in Scotland, Q?”

“Very promising, you know,” Q offered. “Isolated quarters, rather stable foundations. Pity some fucker blew it up.”

The look Q aimed at James made it clear that both knew who had done it.

“An oubliette? Very evil overlord-esque,” James murmured, sliding his hands onto a gently rising tummy to find diaphragm and ribs. “But what’s with the deer?”

“Don’t know,” Q commented, now pulling off a leather belt from James. “Says something about the men of the house. Very... _virile_.”

“Used to be my house, you know,” James clicked his tongue, deftly unbuttoning the shirt with one hand while the other made short work of another belt. “What does that say about me?”

“So... many...” Q licked his lips, fiddling with a shirt that was not his own. “Points. Fourteen, perhaps? A very large... _crown_.”

“Not a _crown_ you can put on your tiny head,” James commented, now running one hand through dark locks while the other dropped south of Q. “It’ll fall to your mouth and we’ll have to gag you shut with it. Where are the Minions?”

“Ah- canvassing,” Q’s voice turned softer with panting before he dropped on the mattress. “Moor, submarines, chapel... might scrape the chapel, but... do you like being squeezed into tiny spaces, James? With a willing body... there was a priest’s hole here. They won’t be back for a while.”

A dark grin flashed, before the horned god trapped the sylph under him. “There’s some hunting allegory here I don’t quite remember,” James confessed.

“You’re thinking of Cernunnos,” Q added, writhing out of a pair of jeans carefully tossed over a muscled, scarred shoulder. “Just a few torcs... you’d look good in a gold collar. Or like a beast. Same thing, in your case.”

“I resent the implication,” James darkly promised, folding up a wrecked shirt before gripping down onto pale skin once more. “I’m a man of class, you know. Unlike you, you sordid little fairy.”

“Oh good,” Q breathed as his legs were wrenched at. “I was wondering if you’ve run out of trite insults.”

“Not that kind of fairy,” James corrected. “Her hair was long/ her foot was light/ and her eyes were wild.”

“ _Keats_?” Q gasped, like he was being impaled. “ _Really_?”

“She took me to her elfin grot,” James grinned. “And there she wept and sighed full sore/ and there I shut her wild, wild eyes/ with kisses four.”

He placed one on the forehead, one between the eyes, one full on the lips, and the last on the... crown.

It was a coincidence that he awoke on the cold hill’s side. And this is why he sojourns here, alone and palely loitering. Though the sedge from the lake is withered; though no birds sing, there a sylph dances.

**Author's Note:**

> Critique, s’il vous plaît!


End file.
